


Broken Record

by taormina



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: 90s Take That, Angst, First Time, Groupies, Hotel Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sexual Experimentation, curious!Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:46:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s late, there’s a groupie in Mark’s bathroom, and Gary helps Mark realise that boys can be very interesting indeed…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Record

With fame came a shitload of crap that none of the members of Take That knew how to deal with in their twenties: record label politics; jet lags; an unfamiliar bed every night; journalists behind trees, hoping to tear down the boys with a single photograph.

Suddenly the lads knew more about how to avoid nosy photographers and gossip columnists than how much a loaf of bread cost at Tesco’s, and that, perhaps, was not how one should spend their twenties at all. Mates their age were only just graduating from uni. They were settling for steady relationships in one-bedroom apartments. They were learning how to pay the rent and how to work the dishwasher. They were buying handbags and books for knock-down prices at charity shops.

The members of Take That didn’t get to experience anything like that. For a long time, they were just parts of a well-oiled machine that would break down if one of them malfunctioned. It wasn’t always nice, and it wasn’t always what the boys had hoped fame would be like.

Then came the girls.

At first there were only about twenty of them, just the same young faces showing up at every TV appearance and outdoor video shoot. At one point the lads even knew most of the fans by name. But then their songs started to gain a bit more traction on the radio, the first comparison with New Kids was made, and the letters came pouring in one post box at a time.

Suddenly girls from all over the country knew where they the boys were headed, sometimes long before the boys did themselves. The fans knew where they were having lunch and where they were staying overnight, first at shabby two-star hotels at busy street corners and then at luxury hotels next to public parks and monuments. Girls started showing up at hotel lobbies, airport terminals, public restrooms and even Gary’s favourite Indian restaurant in Amsterdam, and the boys slowly began to realise that they _could sleep with anyone they wanted._

The girls were clearly up for it!

Girls hadn’t really shown that much interest in the boys before. Sure, they’d had girlfriends prior to the band starting out (relationships that they were forced to break off because “no potential fan invests in unavailable artists”), but it wasn’t always easy meeting girls.

But _now_? 

It was as though life had become one big pick 'n' mix of pretty girls just gagging to meet them.

Usually it’d start off with thirty-odd girls in the billiard room of the hotel, huddled around Mark and Gary at the pool table. Chatting to Howard and Jay at the bar. Laughing hysterically at Rob’s jokes in the lobby. Then one girl in particular would catch one of the boys’ eyes – a bird with blonder hair or bigger tits or a shorter dress than the rest of them – and all it took was a knowing nod and a hand on the small of her back, and they’d disappear quietly into the crowd. It was something that everyone knew was happening. It was never talked about.

It was the same old shit with most girls.

One: Jay or Howard or whoever had been lucky that night would discreetly get a girl up to his room via a hidden lift, or the grand staircase if the girl was fit enough to show off;

Two: they’d utter some half-arsed compliments about the girl’s provocative dress to get her in the mood;

Three: desperate to impress, the girl would make a blatantly untrue remark about the boys’ new single (they weren’t fans, these birds, not really);

Four: the girl would _ooh_ and _ah_ at the sheer luxury of the hotel room —  

and then the fun started.

It was usually quick. Not quite one-minute-man stuff (the boys had quite healthy staminas, thank you very much), but the boys were often so tired and jetlagged that all they wanted was just a quick fix, and a kip later. Most of the girls were so inexperienced and in love with the idea of sleeping with a celebrity that they didn’t know any better, anyway.

Fifteen minutes later the girl would leave to a chorus of untruthful _I’ll-call-you-backs_ , and for some reason she never breathed a word about the night’s events to anyone. None of the girls ever did.

Usually the sex was pleasant. Most of the times it meant fuck all.

Tonight, the boys were staying at a hotel in London for the night. It was another one of those ostentatious ones that was made to look expensive and luxurious, but was several facilities and sommeliers short of being a five-star hotel. Having just been to some teen-orientated awards ceremony (and returned with every single gong they were nominated for), the boys were in an odd state of tiredness and excitement. The clock striking twelve, they were sitting in the hotel bar for celebratory drinks when Howard nudged Mark with his elbow.

Howard whispered into his ear, ‘There’s a fit brunette giving you the eye.’

Mark put his pint of beer on the glass bar and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, standing over at a bar table was an attractive girl with curly brown hair (aged twenty-two or thereabouts, Mark thought). She had a healthy tan and was wearing a nice dress that was doing a pretty good job at looking more expensive than it was. She was a bit thicker than most girls. Curvy. Mark was pretty sure he’d seen her at a signing session earlier today.

Mark was surprised to see girls show interest in him at all tonight. After the awards ceremony he’d gone straight to his hotel room and put on a comfy jumper that he’d gotten as a freebie. It wasn’t the prettiest jumper in the world, but it was comfortable and that’s all he wanted to be tonight. Comfortable, and preferably with a pint of beer in his hand. He hadn’t even combed his hair: it just looked a half-long, curly mess.

Then again, the girl looked like she might give better head than the previous one.

And yet Mark lingered. He was dead exhausted after all the commotion at the awards ceremony, and he hadn’t been feeling that good lately, anyway. It probably had to do with the amount of alcohol he drank on most weekdays, but he couldn’t remember a morning this month when he _hadn’t_ woken up feeling like someone had draped a dark, heavy blanket all over him. He felt okay when he was on the road with the boys, but whenever he had a moment on his own he was instantly hit with a strange sort of sadness that couldn’t have had anything to do with how well the band was doing at the moment. It was extremely odd.

He never told anyone about it, though. And why should he? The lads – Mark included – were rubbish when it came to talking about their feelings.

Mark motioned the barman to fill up his pint. ‘Dunno mate,’ he told Howard, ‘She’s a bit tall, in’t she?’ he lied.

He didn’t feel like taking a girl up to his room tonight. At all. In fact, he hadn’t felt like doing so for a few weeks; it was the longest he’d been without sex since the band started.

Something about shagging another nameless girl just seemed terribly unappealing tonight. 

Perhaps he was getting all old and sensible.

‘Tall?’ Howard cried, and he looked at Mark as though he’d gone mad. ‘She’s ‘ardly taller than you! You’re not _dating_ someone, are you?’ he asked suspiciously, and for a moment Mark worried that Howard was seeing right through him.

Mark blushed. ‘No, but . . .’

‘Then what are you waiting for?’ said Howard with the air of a football coach rallying his team. ‘Come _on_!’

Suddenly feeling rather anxious, Mark bit his nails and glanced at the girl again. She was still looking at him, and his stomach twisted with nerves.

He wasn’t in the mood for sex tonight, period. But _God_ , could Howard be intolerable sometimes! Dougie was always the one pushing the others into doing things that they weren’t keen on doing, and he _always_ got what he wanted because the alternative was being made fun of for the rest of the year.

Worse still, if someone somehow found out that Mark was ignoring their female fans, it might kick-start a shit storm of rumours that none of his mates needed. One time Mark was a bit hungover and cranky, which led to him “accidentally” getting mad at a presenter for comparing them with New Kids _yet again_ — the next day, a dozen letters from distraught mothers arrived saying that the boys were being awful role models! Thankfully, Nige managed to spin the controversy into some bullshit “Oh don’t mind Mark’s _silly_ behaviour on The Ozone, he’d just received news that his dog had died that morning, _bless_ him” story.

Their manager could be absolutely ruthless when it came to putting out fires before they started.

Even if the boys themselves were the fire.

The girl was smiling at him now.

He wondered how long it would take until they met a girl that _did_ kiss and tell. Perhaps this was she.

Mark, with his young and still impressionable mind, felt like he didn’t have much of a choice that night. It was like his first cigarette at the back of an under-18s club. The first time he kissed someone on the cheek after his mates pressured him to do so. All the times Nige told him to shut up and just do as he was told. The first and last time he did drugs, several months ago, only because the others were doing it too. All the girls he’d fucked because he could, not because he necessarily wanted to.

‘I’m only joking,’ said Mark as casually as he could, and he hopped off his stool a little less nimbly than he would have liked. He pulled down the oversized hoodie that had crept up his back and put on a fake smile that thankfully seemed to convince Howard of Mark’s enthusiasm. ‘Don’t stay up for me, How.’

The rest was child’s play: there was The Look, followed by the hand on the brunette’s back, and up the couple went via the marble staircase that wasn’t actually made of marble. Thankfully the girl – called Bianca, or something starting with B, anyway – was in a rather chatty mood, which meant that Mark didn’t have to do much talking himself. He didn’t feel like talking tonight. He hadn’t felt like doing anything for a very long time, and he just sort of nodded and hummed whenever a rise in Bianca’s voice told him that she was saying something that might’ve been particularly interesting. He wasn’t actually listening.

When they finally arrived at Mark’s room on the second floor, Mark was already worrying about what he might do to the girl. Or rather, how to make it quick. Perhaps he’d pin her against the door and lazily finger her through her knickers until she came. Then again, a good blowjob would probably do, too. He could deal with that. Possibly.

All these thoughts and more were going through Mark’s mind when he closed the door behind them and led the girl further into his room. Certain ideas were discarded or replaced by better ones when they sat on the bed and kissed. She wasn’t a great kisser, and she smelled too strongly of cheap perfume. The girl’s small hands moved to Mark’s thigh, and for a second he thought he was going to enjoy this, he really did. She’d probably jerk him off. Perhaps even ride him if he got lucky.

But then her fingers actually pulled down his zip, and every single vision of the evening that Mark’s mind had cleverly fabricated turned into gloom, and the gloom turned into dread.

He didn’t want this.

The room they were in was of ridiculous proportions. It was about as big as Mark’s old house back in Oldham and was paved with smooth wooden panelling from floor to ceiling. The windows were tall and overlooked a quieter part of London if not for the black curtains that were drawn shut. There was a large yellow and purple rug just opposite the bed. A bottle of expensive champagne had been placed on Mark’s night table next to two large glasses, free of charge. There was a state-of-the-art television on the wall that offered more than 80 channels.

To a random guest like Bianca it would have looked exquisite. But to Mark, who was used to hotels by now, it just looked phoney and flimsy.

The bed sheets hadn’t been cleaned properly. There was still dust on the writing desk and reading lamps. The area underneath the bed hadn’t been looked at for days. There was a spider hidden in the right-hand corner of the bathroom.

Everything was meant to look perfect. It wasn’t.

‘I – I can’t do this,’ Mark murmured against Bianca’s lips. He broke off the kiss and guiltily wiped his lips with his hand. There was a vague smudge of lipstick on his palm, and Mark cringed. Looking at the wide-eyed girl on the edge of his bed, he thought of excuses that would make the rejection easier to bear, but nothing came out of his mouth other than, ‘I’m sorry, Bianca.’

Bianca’s eyes filled with tears, and Mark realised that she probably wasn’t as old as he thought she was.

‘It’s Breanne, you _bastard_!’ she cried, and she got up and ran into the bathroom, but not before intentionally hitting Mark in the face with her black handbag. The door closed behind her with a loud _thumph_.

She locked it immediately, and sobbed.

Mark regretted his actions instantly. He’d never turned down a girl like that before, and he had certainly never driven a girl into hiding like that.

He desperately tried reasoning with the brunette through the thick, wooden bathroom door, but all Breanne did was sob, and rant, and sob. Even after ten long minutes of pleading from Mark, Breanne was still highly emotional. She simply refused to leave. She even threatened to tell all her mates about what had happened, and that’s when the alarm bells started ringing.

How had this happened? _Mark was a nice guy! He didn’t make girls cry!_

There was only one thing for it: Mark had to get help.

But who to ask?

James and Paul?

— Fuck no, Mark had put them through enough trouble this week. God knows they both deserved one hell of a raise.

Dougie would probably only make things worse if he were to find out about Mark’s predicament, and Rob was probably busy getting into all sorts of tight spots himself. Jason was most definitely already sleeping, the sensible sod that he was.

That left Mark with Gary, which didn’t seem like a good idea at all. Gary was the least likely to tell the others about what had happened, _yes_ , but also the most useless member of the band when it came to girls. He was still as shy around hot birds as he had been when the band was formed many years ago, which was just odd. Mark couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen Gary with a girl.

_Unless_ . . .

Mark gave his head a little shake as though ridding his mind of a bad thought, and left his room with his keys still in his right hand and a bad feeling in his stomach. Gary would have to do.

Before Mark had even had the chance to think about the fib he was going to tell Gary, he had already found himself face to face with the blonde on the staircase to the first floor.

It appeared as though Gary was in a hurry, and he didn’t even notice Mark going down the stairs until Mark grabbed his elbow and brought him back to his senses. Wearing a God awful shirt that had been buttoned up all wrong, Gary looked a right mess. Like Mark, he hadn’t bothered to do something about his hair that evening; it was all unruly, like he had just gotten out of bed.

Mark’s heart jumped: Gary hadn’t just . . . _He hadn’t had, he?_

‘You all right, mate?’ said Mark, and he removed his hand from Gary’s arm when Gary looked at him sort of funny. Something was up, and Mark had no idea whether it might have to do with the alcohol that had been served at the awards ceremony, or something else entirely.

Out of all five of them, Gary had been the most gracious and reserved when they won their sixth award of the night. All Mark could remember was feeling dead impressed when Kylie (!!!) congratulated _him_ – Mark – on yet another “Best Haircut of the Year” award. He would have spoken to her if Rob hadn’t literally shoved him out of the way.

Gary nodded several times in quick succession and waved a hand in the air. ‘‘m fine,’ he said, but not without misplacing his foot and almost falling down the stairs backwards. ‘I was meant to do that,’ he added with burning cheeks while he held on to the railing for dear life.

A hotel attendant was about to head up the stairs and tell the boys off for using the staircase as their meeting point, but turned and walked away sighing when he recognized their faces. _Bloody boybands._

Mark thought Gary’s behaviour was extremely odd, but whatever was going on, it had to wait. Girl. Bathroom. ‘I don’t suppose you could help me with something?’ said Mark, deliberately slowly in case Gary was drunk and might have trouble keeping up.

‘Can it wait?’ said Gary, glancing over his shoulder and squinting when a blonde woman walked past their staircase. Gary looked as though he was very eager to go somewhere and was fidgeting with the room key in his hands. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry, to be honest, mate.’

‘There’s a girl in me bathroom, Gaz,’ Mark admitted yet more slowly. He was starting to feel more and more stupid by the second, and his stomach ached in a familiar manner. He was going to feel fucking sad again, he just knew it. None of this would have happened if he’d just manned up and shagged the bloody girl. ‘As in, she won’t leave,’ he added when Gary raised a questioning eyebrow.

Gary frowned. ‘That’s funny, cos I’m trying to hide from a girl who looks like she might tie me up or something. Think she’s a journo in disguise . . . There’s been a lot of that lately, journalists trying to dig up dirt. Which is sad, really, cos the only thing I’m worried about the press finding out is me pedal collection,’ said Gary, more to himself than to Mark. He stopped fidgeting and looked over his shoulder once more. ‘She’s not blonde, is she, your girl?’ he asked in a lower voice.

‘Mine’s got brown hair,’ Mark said with a sigh.

‘Why’s she in the bathroom?’

Mark’s cheeks reddened. He stared at his shoes. (More freebies. They were a size too big, these shoes, but they were a designer brand so Mark didn’t want to throw them away just yet.) ‘I didn’t feel like . . . you know. Wasn’t in the mood, I suppose,’ Mark explained vaguely as he rubbed his nose. His eyes felt prickly. ‘Then she got upset. Hid in the bathroom.’

A shadow of curiosity briefly flickered over Gary’s face, then disappeared when Mark looked at him again. ‘Better get her out before she starts talking, I suppose,’ said Gary solemnly. ‘Where you at?’

‘On the second floor, Room 27.’

‘Lead the way.’

Mark blessed his lucky stars as he led his bandmate to his room. Gary hadn’t asked any awkward questions, thank God!

When the boys arrived in Room 27 several minutes later, Breanne was still in Mark’s bathroom. Gary, with his silky Northern voice, somehow managed to calm the girl down, and eventually the sobbing stopped and the door was unlocked. A few minutes later Breanne left the room with mascara running down her cheeks and her little black handbag clutched to her chest. She didn’t even look at Mark when he muttered another well-meant “sorry”, and Mark realised with a pang how young she was. It made him feel incredibly guilty.

The door closed behind the girl with a loud _thumph_ , and Mark prayed that she wouldn’t run into Gary’s blonde journalist. If word got out that Mark had rejected and hurt a fan (read: girl) like that, it could very well ruin his _Nice Boy_ image . . . However, he had more pressing matters to worry about right now: Gary. Gary, with a dark frown on his face and his arms crossed defensively, suddenly looked as though he was about to give one of Nigel’s never-ending lectures on reputation and good behaviour.

_So much for not asking any awkward questions._

Gary cleared his throat. _Here we go._

‘So when were you planning on telling me what the — _fuck_ — is wrong with you lately?’ Gary implored worriedly yet strictly.

Gary was looking at Mark so intensely that Mark decided to sit on the bed in case the inevitable lecture was going to be particularly lengthy. It was a question he hadn’t been asked for a very long time, if ever, and one he could only answer with a shrug and a lousy fib: ‘Nothing. ‘m fine. Just didn’t feel like shagging her, is all,’ Mark added when Gary looked utterly unimpressed with his blatant lie about his wellbeing.

Gary shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was about to become rather angry with Mark, which was a tad intimidating as Gary never got angry, ever. As Nigel had the tendency to become absolutely livid when one of the lads had done something stupid (and sometimes rightly so), Nige usually used Gary as the _good cop_ to his _bad cop_. Gary went on, ‘Three missed rehearsals this week, God knows how many unanswered calls—’

Mark puffed out his chest. ‘That’s not true, I—‘

‘ _Three_ missed rehearsals,’ Gary interjected, ‘no enthusiasm during live shows whatsoever, _and_ you’re late at every fucking appointment. You’ll be out of a job soon, with the way you’ve been behaving lately. And leaving a girl hangin’ like that . . . ! What were you thinking, mate?’

The comments made Mark feel even guiltier than he had all night, but he was doing a very good job at pretending he was unaffected by his bandmate’s insinuations. If he admitted that he’d been feeling shit lately he’d only end up crying like a little kid anyway.

He scrunched up his nose. ‘So?’ he said with the air of a stubborn student who had been caught misbehaving by his teacher. He was clutching the bedsheets underneath him very tightly. ‘You sound like Nige.’

‘I worry about you, Mark,’ said Gary earnestly. He sat next to Mark on the edge of the bed. Mark shuffled away uncomfortably, but mostly because he didn’t want Gary to smell the alcohol on him. He hadn’t drunk _that_ much, but still. Gary could be relentless sometimes. ‘If there’s anything you need . . .’

Mark avoided Gary’s searching eyes. It’s true that he’d missed a lot of appointments lately and that he wasn’t always on time — but the black pit in his stomach was making it extremely hard to get out of bed every morning, and lately being awake had only been a fucking chore, anyway. Every day was just the exact same, without exception. It was the same shit day in, day out.

The first time was fun, _really_ fun: have breakfast, do dance rehearsals with your mates all morning, skip lunch, head to some TV studio to do promo, chat to a local journalist, have dinner, show up at a school assembly in the afternoon and an over-18s club in the evening, take a girl home after. It was such a _thrill_. But then the same thing happened the day after, and the next, and it just wasn’t the same anymore. It was like being stuck on repeat, constantly.

Not to mention the sex . . .

And that’s what made it so complicated. Whenever he was on his own he’d feel incredibly sad, without exception, like dark clouds followed him around in every city and hotel corridor. So having sex, and having someone to hold for a few minutes _should_ make him feel better . . . but it didn’t. It just didn’t.

‘I’m just so bored of it all,’ Mark admitted finally. ‘It’s like being in Groundhog Day, you know, that film that came out in, when was it?’

‘. . . ‘93.’

‘Right. ’93. It’s like that.’

Mark was pretty sure he could hear Howard drunkenly serenade a girl in the hotel courtyard outside their window. So much for five-star peace and quiet. Mark was surprised they were still allowed access to these places, actually. The last time they were in a London hotel they made such a racket that Nige had to write another one of his half-arsed letters of apology to the hotel owner. And then when they were in Amsterdam one time, and they smoked such large spliffs that they made the sprinklers go off in their hotel rooms.

That was one of the better days.

‘We could change the choreography of one of our songs?’ Gary suggested after a while, blindly assuming that Mark was talking about the promotional tour they were currently on. ‘Do more promo abroad? Give you more tracks on the new record? Anything you need, mate,’ he added when Mark released a long breath.

Mark rubbed his temples. ‘I don’t mean that. Well, I do, but — I mean . . .’ He took another deep breath. Whatever he was going to blurt out now, he was probably going to regret it. Forever. He settled for, ‘Don’t you ever get tired of all the girls?’

Gary pressed his lips together and stared at the room key in his hand. He had been clutching it so tightly that an imprint of the key was pressed into his palm.

When Gary said nothing, Mark went on, ‘It’s just, I don’t know if I enjoy being with girls anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve, you know, experimented a bit more. But I haven’t,’ he added, disappointed, ‘and sometimes that . . . I dunno, I guess it makes me feel a bit depressed sometimes. Like there’s a part of me that I need to hide. Or _should_ hide if I ever did act upon it,’ he added incoherently.  

Mark had said all of this so softly that Gary almost uttered an uncomprehending ‘What?’ until the meaning of Mark’s words finally hit him. He said nothing again, and continued fumbling with the key in his hands. He seemed to have turned a darker shade of pink.

Inside, Mark was dying. He’d admitted to having feelings he didn’t even know he had. He’d basically admitted to being gay. But he wasn’t. Was he?

_Oh God._

‘It’d be really nice if you said something,’ Mark mumbled.

‘Um,’ Gary croaked finally, ‘Y-you could be bisexual?’ When Mark frowned at this, he explained, ‘It’s when you fancy boys _and_ girls. I think,’ he added to appear less educated in these matters than he actually was. ‘A lot of people are these days. Apparently. It’s probably just a big load of psychological nonsense,’ he muttered unconvincingly.

_That makes sense._

_It’s completely ridiculous, **but it makes sense.**_

‘Well, it sounds like bollocks to me,’ said Mark a bit too quickly. He was blushing furiously and was trying very hard not to look Gary in the eyes.

‘I – I know,’ Gary stuttered, ‘I, um, read it in one of Jay’s psychology books,’ he explained nervously. ‘And you know what they’re like, those books of Jay’s . . . Mind you,’ he added quietly, ‘I can’t see you dating guys anyway, Marko, they’re usually much taller than you. Would be very awkward, that.’

It was a sly attempt at lifting the awkwardness from the conversation, but it worked: Mark smiled for what had to be the first time that evening.

Mark softly hit Gary with one of his fluffy pillows. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘No,’ said Gary, his lips pressed together again.

‘I’ve dated lots of tall . . . people, you know!’

Gary couldn’t help himself. It was so unlike him, but he just had to. ‘. . . Did you have to stand on a box so you could kiss ‘em?’

‘You bastard!’ Mark made a movement to hit Gary again, but Gary blocked the move with another pillow.

Like the many other blurry events from that evening, Mark couldn’t remember who made the first move, but a pillow fight of enormous proportions started off. Every soft object in the room was used. A plump pillow flew into Mark’s face. A teddy bear that had been given to Mark by a fan landed on top of a dresser. Gary shrieked as a pillowcase exploded into a feathery mess.

Everything became a blur of pillows and feathers.

The bed creaked. Body parts ached.

Mark ended up lying on top of Gary.

He didn’t know how. All he knew was that one moment they were laughing, and the next they weren’t anymore.

Mark could _feel_ Gary pant heavily underneath him, his belly puffing in and out, in and out fast.

A feather came fluttering down onto the mattress.

Then something snapped.

Gary said something vague, and Mark kissed him. Gently, on the lips, on a bed covered in feathers. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t deliberate, and yet it felt like the most perfect thing to do at the moment.

The moment Mark’s mouth hit Gary’s, it was as though a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He no longer felt the dark cloud that had been hanging over him for the past month. He was no longer reminded of the weird night he’d had, taking a girl up to his room and unintentionally hurting her. Gone were the doubts. Gone was the temptation to skip every single meeting Take That were supposed to be at. Better still, when Gary moaned into the kiss and parted his lips, Mark felt an excitement he had not felt for ages. Soon, desire was spreading throughout his entire body, and Mark decided he wanted more, more, more.

He wasn’t even aware of the fact that he was kissing _one of his colleagues_ anymore.

‘So — I guess this — _mm_ — is the experimenting — you were — talking about?’ Gary panted in between kisses. He sounded fucking _horny_ , hornier than any person Mark had ever kissed. It was nothing like the arousal that girls so often faked when you got them into bed. Girls usually pretended to like you just so they could say they’d slept with a famous person, and why shouldn’t they? They weren’t even fucking fans. But _Gary_?

Gary wanted this as much as Mark did.

His hands were in Mark’s hair. Their tongues touched. Their kisses were becoming wetter. More desperate.

Gary arched his back when Mark sucked his bottom lip, and Mark felt every inch of his mate’s body burning up against his own. Then came the ear nibbling and neck sucking and _moaning_ (Gary was rather loud), and Mark couldn’t stop himself any longer. This is what he’d been waiting for all those months. This is what kept him up each night, and what had recently turned him into such a terrible lover.

So Mark liked boys, apparently. _And_ girls. But right now he really, really liked Gary.

When Mark broke off the kiss ten minutes later, they were both blushing furiously. Gary’s soft hands had crept underneath Mark’s jumper.

They both knew how wrong it was.

Neither of them cared.

One of their band mates might barge into Mark’s room and see what they were up to any moment. The guests in the neighbouring rooms may have overheard their chat. Heard Gary’s moans. A sly journalist may have bribed Breanne to spill the dirt on what was done to her tonight. They knew that. In this business, privacy was a made-up concept. Privacy was something that could be earned back at any moment, but only at the cost of your career. If you wanted to live outside the fear of your every move being televised or reported on, you had to give up on fame — and none of the boys wanted to do that.

But at the end of the day, the fear of being caught was nowhere near as strong as the desire to do _more_. There was just something so deliciously alluring about Gary’s large, strong hands on the small of Mark’s back, marking the brunette as _his_. The way Gary’s breath hitched in his throat when Mark looked at him. The way Mark smelled, so unlike a girl’s flowery perfumes.

This moment wasn’t like the half-arsed compliments used to take a girl home, or the girls’ fake orgasms that the boys no longer even cared about: this was real. It was pure desire, and none of it made sense, but _it just felt so good._

‘D’you know what, I have _no_ idea where all those gay rumours from a few years ago came from,’ joked Gary before Mark kissed him again. He sounded nervous as well as horny now, which was extremely uncharacteristic: Gary never got nervous. About anything. ‘Must have been really desperate about selling a few extra copies, those journalists,’ he added.

Yet another kiss.

‘ _Fuck_ , I need to touch you,’ said Mark, ignoring Gary’s previous remark. It came out as a whimper, almost as though the utterance had caused Mark physical pain. His eyes were closed, scared that if he opened them again he’d be back in time, back with Breanne. Back with a girl in his bedroom whom he didn’t want to make love to. His forehead was touching Gary’s, and for a second he was seriously considering just staying here forever. ‘Please, Gary. Just this once . . .’

Mark couldn’t believe he was asking this of Gary, but he wanted it so badly. _So badly_.

He didn’t even know what touching Gary would entail or even lead to, just that it was the only thing that still made sense on this disastrous mess of an evening.

‘O-okay,’ said Gary after what felt like forever. He released a wobbly sigh. ‘Okay,’ he reiterated in a thicker voice, trying hard not to sound as nervous as he felt.

Mark proceeded to kiss Gary again, his hand sliding down and down nervously until it reached Gary’s crotch, and Mark discovered with a rush of guilt and relief that Gary was rock hard.

Gary was hard for _him_.

‘Oh, shit, Gary . . .’ Mark pulled down the zip of Gary’s baggy trousers and eventually managed to pull Gary’s cock free with shaky hands. It was wet and much thicker than Mark’s, and _fuck_ , so tempting. So tempting. He’d never seen another guy’s cock before, and the thought filled him with one sinful thought after another. These were thoughts he’d never had before, and yet they were presenting themselves in Mark’s mind’s eye now, one second away from becoming a reality.

He’d made loads of girls come. (As far as he was aware, anyway.) It made him feel powerful and wanted.

And now he could do the same thing to _one of his bandmates._

Mark swallowed. ‘Um. Would you like me to . . .?’ he asked nervously, gesticulating vaguely at Gary’s crotch.

Gary moaned affirmatively.

‘I’m not . . . I’m not really sure how to, though,’ Mark admitted shyly. There was sweat on his forehead, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this anxious.

‘ _Christ_. Mark, mate, you’ve got a cock yourself, don’t you?’ Gary pointed out a little impatiently.

‘Oh yeah.’ Mark smiled apologetically. ‘Good point, Gaz.’

‘You’re hopeless, you are, Mark.’

‘Thanks, mate. God, this is so wrong . . .’ Mark sat straight so the angle wasn’t as awkward, his legs straddling Gary’s, and started rubbing Gary’s cock the way _he_ liked it: slow and gentle, and with just the right amount of pressure.

Apparently this is how Gary liked it, too.

‘Jesus, Mark . . .’ Mark watched Gary arch his back and writhe against the mattress as he did so, and Mark quickened his jerks a little. Gary looked utterly beautiful subjected to Mark’s touch like that: lips parted, eyes rolling into the back of his head whenever Mark twisted his wrist just right, sweat dripping down his temples. Moans, deeper and sexier than a girl’s.

Clearly pleasuring another guy was as easy as jerking himself off after a particularly hard day at work.

Except this wasn’t just _another guy_ : it was Gary, with his ridiculous dress sense and ash blonde hair, whose thick cock Mark was touching. Gary, whom Mark always assumed never talked about girls because he was too much of a gentleman.

Gary was everything but a gentleman.

Gary’s needy hands fisted the back of Mark’s jumper, pulling at the red fabric as though wanting it off, off, off, and the confidence that Mark usually had in bed came wafting back. He had never really thought about what his band members were like in bed before, but he had certainly never imagined Gary to be a needy little shit, either.

The idea filled Mark with cockiness and greed.

He wondered if manipulating Gary would be as easy as with a young bird.

‘Would you like me to take me clothes off, Gary?’ said Mark slyly, but not without twisting his wrist again.

‘Yes,’ croaked Gary. He looked as horny as Mark felt. He couldn’t believe they were doing this. _This_ : kissing and touching and rubbing against each other’s bodies.

‘You _have_ seen me shirtless before, you know,’ Mark pointed out.

Gary groaned.

‘No, but seriously, Gaz,’ said Mark a bit more earnestly (he was still mindlessly rubbing Gary’s cock up and down, much to Gary’s frustration), ‘we do, you know, share dressing rooms. Why would it be any different now?’

Gary then said something that included quite a few expletives, and Mark rolled his eyes and deliberately took off his jumper as slowly as he could. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He threw the piece of clothing on the floor next to one of his suitcases, and Gary hungrily placed his hand on Mark’s tattoo the moment the jumper hit the floor. Mark had to purse his lips to stop himself from saying something embarrassing.

Mark knew that his tattoo wasn’t particularly cool or artsy like Rob’s, but he prided himself for being able to make fans weak in the knees with it.

Girls simply loved Mark’s tattoo, God knows why. All he had to do is pull down his trousers a little, and fans would scream. But when he told the other lads that he’d had it done, Gary just shook his head infinitesimally and mumbled something. From that moment on Mark just assumed that Gary had a bit of a thing against tattoos, and always made sure that the blonde wasn’t in the room when he and Rob discussed body art.

Yet another wrong assumption. ‘God, I’ve always loved that thing,’ said Gary, his voice thick with desire. He rubbed his thumb over the vibrant little dolphin, and Mark bit his lips as he imagined Gary secretly looking at him every time they undressed backstage. Mark knew he didn’t have a ripped body like Jay or Howard, but he was still very fond of it.

Gary evidently was, too: his hands moved up Mark’s naked chest slowly, sending pinpricks of longing through Mark’s body until he couldn’t take it anymore.

‘C’mere.’ Mark leant in for another kiss, messier than the previous ones. Needier. The boys were becoming more and more aroused. Gary’s shirt was unbuttoned and thrown over a chair. Trousers and boxers were wriggled out off, leaving Gary’s awful white socks as the only piece of clothing still on their bodies. Hands were everywhere, discovering familiar places that were also completely different. Naked pieces of skin were kissed. Body parts were being rubbed up against, and Mark let out a near-pornographic moan when his own cock touched Gary’s.

‘Oh my God.’ Every time Mark moved even a little, his cock bounced against Gary’s, creating a friction that neither of them had felt before. Gary wrapped his legs around Mark’s smaller body so that they became closer still, and for a second Mark’s mind went blank as they rubbed up against each other. It’s as though they were one person, moving gently back and forth to the soundtrack of a softly creaking bed.

Gary said something filthy about his mate’s cock, and Mark could feel his world spin.

Already, Mark’s cock was throbbing against his mate’s naked skin. He normally lasted longer than this, he really did, but one more rub or touch, and—

‘This is really embarrassing, but—’ A high-pitched whimper escaped Mark’s lips when the tip of his prick brushed against Gary’s. His face was buried against Gary’s neck, breathing in his smell. He was going to come, he just knew it. He was with Gary, and he was going to fucking come all over him. ‘O _h shit_ — I think I might — oh fuck —’

‘Not yet,’ said Gary resolutely, and he lifted Mark’s small body off of him.

‘ _Ah_. . .’ Mark gasped when Gary rolled on top of him and pushed him deep into the mattress with his heavier body, Mark’s arms pinned helplessly above his head. For a brief moment, Gary himself seemed rather taken aback by this sudden show of dominance, but then he blinked and bit Mark’s neck until his mate had been rendered a mewling mess underneath him.

Gary was _good_.

‘Y-you know, Gaz, I thought you were supposed to be the shy member of the band, not’ – Gary licked his nipples – ‘ _oh my God_ —’

Gary grinned smugly, and a look that Mark did not recognize transformed his features. It made Mark wonder if Gary was as inexperienced with boys as Mark assumed he was. Judging by what he said next, he probably wasn’t: ‘Um, there’s this thing we could try?’

_Oh_.

‘If . . . you wanna?’ Gary added when Mark remained quiet, his face suddenly becoming a bit more solemn.

It dawned on Mark how little he actually knew about his colleagues. His mates. Sure, he’d spent pretty much every day of his life with these four guys since they got together, but when did they ever have a serious conversation? When did they ever talk about their feelings? All they talked about was songs, birds, tour ideas and birds. And songs. They never sat down to have a _proper_ chat, the five of them, and that would probably explain why this, _here_ , was happening, with Gary looking at Mark like he was the hottest person he’d ever seen.  

Because when did the boys ever talk about _what they meant for each other_?

Gary could have fancied Mark for ages, for all he knew.

He knew fuck all about boys and _sex with boys,_ but Mark did know that he trusted Gary enough not to mess it up.

He was safe with Gary, safe from the day-to-day nonsense that kept him up every night.

Safe from people he did not want to sleep with.

Mark nodded. ‘Thing. Yes. Let’s try.’

Because Gary he _did_ want to sleep with.

‘Okay. Um.’ Gary’s cheeks reddened. ‘People normally use lube for this, _I think,_ but . . .’

The next few minutes were a complete haze; half due to the fact that the alcohol was finally working its way through Mark’s system, half because everything Gary was putting Mark through was just on another level of — Mark couldn’t even come up with a decent word to describe it — it was just too good —

All Mark could remember was Gary’s wet fingers probing him (which felt amazing), and flinching when Gary suddenly filled him up to the hilt with his thick, hard cock. It hurt like hell, but it hurt _so_ good. Gary pushed in and out slowly while they continued kissing, with Mark’s cock pleasantly rubbing against Gary’s flat belly. Gary kissed Mark’s cheeks and eyelids and temples until Mark gave a wordless nod, and he’d start moving just that little bit quicker. Sometimes Gary would hit a spot that Mark wasn’t even aware of having, and the burning pain was completely forgotten.

Neither of them really knew what they were doing, but then a warmth unlike any other filled Mark up deep inside, and Mark followed suit with his arms and legs wrapped tightly around Gary’s body. It all happened completely silently apart from the creaking bed and the sounds of their pumping hearts in their ears.

It was the best orgasm Mark had had in years; it was so intense that Gary had to kiss and kiss and kiss him until he stopped shaking.

‘You all right, Marko?’

‘Hm. Yeah.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘Really?’

‘Jesus, Gaz, _yes_.’

The boys never spoke about what had happened that night. Even after Gary had softened inside of Mark and asked him over and over again if he was all right, all they talked about was how lucky they’d been to have won so many awards that day.

After their heart rates had slowed down to their regular paces, they awkwardly helped each other get dressed. Gary left, Mark went to bed feeling oddly content, and that was the end of that. Breanne never spilled the beans about Mark’s odd behaviour, and Howard never even asked Mark how his little liaison with the brunette had gone. Gary’s “blonde journalist” had miraculously disappeared.

It was almost as though the whole night had never happened, and for years and years the boys actually believed it to be so. The girls kept coming and going (usually quite literally), and Mark stopped feeling as down about sex and sexuality as he had previously. He even started seeing someone whom he’d met on their final tour. In the back of his mind, sleeping with Gary had been one of those once-in-a-lifetime things like bungee jumping: you take the plunge and it’s fucking amazing, but would you do it again?

Many, many years later, the band were staying at yet another luxury hotel in Cardiff. Now older and hopefully equally more mature, Gary had gained a bit more muscle and was sporting just the faintest hint of facial hair. Mark, meanwhile, did not seem to have changed at all, and had started wearing hats to seem taller.

That morning, the boys bumped into each other in the hotel corridor on the first floor. They were headed for breakfast, and God dammit, the words just slipped out of Mark’s mouth: ‘I think there might be a fan in me bedroom. Would you, er, mind, Mr. Barlow?’

Gary snatched the daft hat off Mark’s head and they stumbled into the next best room together.

**Author's Note:**

> Another Take That fic, oops! *blushes* Part of me wishes I'd made the story a little bit darker. Maybe next time... 
> 
> Also, I return to work next week so I don't know if I'll be able to post fics as frequently as I have lately! (Apart from my AU fic, that is, but that one's practically finished.) Just so you know. :-)


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